The ancient rabbis certainly did, and they explored this question through stories, through midrash – those beautiful, imaginative expansions on the biblical text. Let's dive into one such exploration, found in Bereshit Rabbah 57, a section of the great commentary on the Book of Genesis.
The passage opens with the curious phrase, "It was after these matters [devarim]". But what "matters," what devarim, are we talking about? The Rabbis aren't shy about filling in the gaps. They tell us it refers to the thoughts swirling in Abraham's mind after the near-sacrifice of Isaac, the Akeidah.
Imagine Abraham's turmoil. He's just been through the ultimate test of faith. Now, he's grappling with the practical realities. According to this midrash, Abraham is thinking, "Had Isaac died on Mount Moriah, he would have died childless! What am I going to do? I’ll have to marry him off to one of the daughters of Aner, Eshkol, and Mamre, my Canaanite allies. They're righteous men. Lineage doesn't matter so much, does it?" These are the very human, agonizing calculations of a father concerned for his son's future and legacy.
But then, a divine interruption. Bereshit Rabbah tells us that the Holy One, blessed be He, responds to Abraham’s internal debate. God says, "You need not do that; Isaac’s spouse has already been born." It's a powerful statement about divine providence, about the idea that some things are already in motion, beyond our immediate control.
And how is this divine intervention revealed? Through the seemingly simple statement: “Behold, Milka, she too has borne.” Now, why the emphasis on "she too"? The Rabbis, masters of textual interpretation, seize on this repetition. It would have been sufficient to say “she has borne,” yet it says “she too has borne.” This “too” implies a comparison.
According to the text, just as with Sarah’s descendants, there were eight children born to the main wives of Jacob and four children born to concubines, so too with Milka, there were eight children born to the main wife, and four children born to the concubine. This parallel structure, they suggest, hints at a deeper connection, a preordained symmetry in the unfolding of family lines and destinies.
What does it all mean? Perhaps it's a reminder that even in moments of intense personal struggle and decision-making, there are forces at play beyond our comprehension. Abraham, wrestling with Isaac's future, is reminded that God has a plan, a plan already set in motion. It's a comforting thought, isn't it? That even when we're making choices, big or small, we're part of a larger tapestry, woven with threads of destiny and divine intention. It doesn't negate our free will, but it does offer a sense of hope and assurance that we're not entirely alone in shaping our lives.